


A Foray into Knighthood

by bananichu



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), BAMF Merlin (Merlin), First Kiss, Good Morgana (Merlin), M/M, Mutual Pining, Secret Identity, Tournaments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:41:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27599062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananichu/pseuds/bananichu
Summary: Arthur is forced to host a tournament for his hand in marriage. Of course Merlin secretly enters it.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 602





	A Foray into Knighthood

**Author's Note:**

> ok hi. this was inspired by some tags on my merlin hc post on tumblr (@bananichu) and i just ran with it. super unbetaed. 
> 
> also ignore everything timeline wise; anyone i want is alive, everyone is happy, just don't look deeper. 
> 
> anyways, enjoy !!

If Arthur or one of the knights asked Merlin to his face, he would say he was in this situation out of pure spite and the stubborn streak he was known for. If Gaius asked he’d give him some spiel about protecting Camelot because god knows you couldn’t trust foreign knights. If his mother asked he’d make up some lie because Hunith when pissed off was truly something to be terrified of. 

If he was being honest with himself —well, even then he’s not really sure he could explain away how exactly he ended up facing off against Arthur in a vicious one minute battle posing as some foreign knight while everyone else thought the real Merlin was off tending to his mother in Ealdor. 

The fated day started off as any other: 

“Rise and shin—” Merlin cut himself off abruptly at the novel sight; the bed was made, sheets crisp and pulled tight, the curtains were drawn, and the king himself was sitting regally behind his desk, a scowl painted on his lips. 

Merlin took a moment to simply watch Arthur, who had yet to notice him; the king was deep in thought, lips pressed into a thin line and eyebrows furrowed. The light from the window fell across him like it belonged there, hair soft and glowing under its adoration. He had the sudden, overwhelming urge to walk over there and run his hands through Arthur’s hair, to find out if it was as soft as it looked. 

“ _ Mer _ lin, are you going to keep staring, or do your job?” Arthur drawled, making a familiar motion with his hand towards the tray of food Merlin was still holding onto. He snapped out of it when Arthur fixed an expectant look on him, taking jolting motions towards the desk before gracelessly dumping it in front of the other. 

“Why are you awake?” Merlin blurted out when the silence trailed on too long between them, wincing when Arthur glared at him petulantly, mouth full of bread and cheese. 

“Because the sun is up, because I have things to do, because I’m the king—take your pick,” Arthur replied, voice flat and borderlining the tone he used when Merlin was doing something particularly idiotic. 

“I just,” Merlin paused, taking a moment to grumble to himself about prattish kings, “—you’re  _ never  _ awake this early without a reason.” 

“Thank you for your unwavering faith, Merlin,” Arthur rolled his eyes when Merlin shot him an unimpressed look, arms crossed loosely. He continued to stare at the other, one eyebrow raised; Merlin knew Arthur would break and tell him what was bothering him if he just looked at him long enough (he secretly thought it was hilarious that the king couldn’t handle long, drawn out silences, especially if Merlin started tapping his foot in impatience). 

“The councilors,” Was what Arthur finally said after a few beats, sighing into the air between them; he ran a hand through his hair, looking more frustrated than Merlin had seen him in a while. He waited for an explanation, but when none was forthcoming, Merlin stalked forward and plopped into the chair in front of him, legs crossing languidly. 

“And what about the councilors?”

“They gave me an ultimatum… and have  _ forced _ me into something I would rather not do,” Arthur answered vaguely, frustration building with every word. 

“Do you want me to, y’know—” Merlin cut himself off and wiggled his fingers obnoxiously, letting a little gold bleed into his eyes. He waited expectantly as Arthur gave him an odd look, head tilted to the side. 

“No,  _ Mer _ lin, I can take care of it,” Arthur finally answered, snorting lightly when Merlin’s pout was clear in its exaggeration. 

This was still new between them; it had only been under two months since Merlin had revealed his warlock status to the king, and they were still dancing around the topic. The first conversation had resulted in a blowout argument that had had the entire castle ducking for cover every time the two of them exchanged words in public (Merlin had been  _ furious  _ when George had arrived with the message that the king did not require Merlin’s services for the next two weeks). They had then proceeded to be forced into a conversation (the knights, Gwen, and Morgana had locked them into a room) that ended with Merlin bursting into tears; this then made them awkwardly avoid each other for another week, before finally breaking down and having a long conversation that led to mutual apologies. 

“Well? What is it they’re forcing you to do?” 

“The councilors insist I get married, and I’ve been doing a fine enough job at warding them off—rejecting poncy princesses, insisting they need to be proficient at skills no one has, telling them I prefer men—but they’ve come up with something I can’t find an excuse for,” Arthur sounded despondent, the hand curled around his quill tightening as he spoke. 

Merlin’s heart stopped, and restarted as Arthur spoke, a tight feeling curling around his chest at the thought of Arthur getting married. It’d been bad enough when Arthur had clung to Gwen, someone he couldn’t help but root for. He’d thought, after that had ended with Arthur giving Gwen and Lancelot his blessings, that the prospects of marriage wouldn’t crop up for a long time. He ignored the sinking feeling in his stomach and snapped back to their conversation. 

“What have they come up with?” Merlin asked slowly, forcing his voice to stay stable as he spoke; no need for the prat to catch onto how shaken he was from the news. 

“A tournament fo—”  
“Don’t you love tournaments though?” Merlin interrupted, eyebrows raised. 

“If you’d let me  _ finish _ ,” Arthur retorted, rolling his eyes when Merlin didn’t change his facial expression. “This tournament is for my, ah, hand in marriage.” 

Merlin gaped, noting Arthur’s growing discomfort in the back of his mind. A  _ tournament _ —to win Arthur’s hand in marriage? An irritated feeling grew in the pit of his stomach, but he ignored it to continue to keep staring. 

“I did get them to agree that to truly win my hand, the final winner would have to last a minute against me, same as any of my knights,” Arthur added triumphantly, and Merlin relaxed a fraction. But only a fraction; just because many had difficulty lasting against Arthur didn’t mean they weren’t any at all in all of Albion. 

“Maybe there won’t be anyone good enough?” Merlin shrugged weakly, burrowing deeper into his seat and mindlessly picking at the grapes littering the food tray. 

“I’m not sure. They plan on sending messages out to every corner of Albion, and as confident as I am in my skills…” Arthur trailed off purposefully, eyes far away as his gaze went to the window. Merlin took a second to trace the lines of Arthur’s jaw, and the pink of his lips in the morning light. 

He blamed his morning brain and Arthur’s ridiculously attractive appearance for what came out of his lips next: “Want me to enter and win your hand,  _ sire _ ?” 

Arthur stared at him blankly, and Merlin’s brain immediately shut down, lips opening and closing as he tried to fix the conundrum he’d accidentally landed himself into. 

“I—I mean, I could beat everyone else and lose to you on purpose, yeah?” Merlin stuttered out, feeling the tips of his ears burn red and prayed his hair was covering them. 

“ _ Mer _ lin, the very thought of you holding a sword is enough to bring anyone to tears laughing. I’m nearly positive you’d keel over and faint if you tried to fight someone with a sword,” Arthur’s voice was filled with laughter, and Merlin felt a spike of irritation run through him. 

“You don’t know that,” Merlin protested, eyes narrowing when Arthur simply laughed out loud, chin hitting his chest and revealing a tan nape, skin glowing softly under the sun. His heart clenched at the sight, and he forced himself to look away. 

“I do, and before you do something inane like try to prove yourself in front of me, why don’t you go ahead and take care of the rest of your chores—and  _ not  _ with,” Arthur paused, eyes squinting as he mimicked the same finger motions Merlin had done earlier. 

“Yes, sire,” Merlin mocked, making sure he injected enough sarcasm into his voice that Arthur would be aware of his annoyance. He curled off the chair with a sigh, shooting a grinning Arthur one last look before snatching the armor littering the floor and marching off to the armory; he had things to plan. 

—

Arthur had never been more irritated in his life. The council had been running him ragged all week, pulling him in and out of meetings and introductions and more meetings. He’d barely had spare time to sit down, let alone take a moment to think about the fact that there was going to be a tournament in three weeks’ time that would either end with the councilors coming up with more creative methods or with a new suitor. 

Merlin’s reaction to the news had been…  _ interesting _ . He hadn’t expected the other to suddenly blurt out an offer to join the tournament, and his traitorous heart had leapt like a dog greeting his owner at the thought. He’d been brought back to Earth when Merlin had explained his logic, and of course— _ of course  _ his manservant had only offered because of some twisted sense of deep rooted loyalty everyone and their mother knew Merlin had.

Even if the logical, rational part of his brain knew that, the idiotic, in love part of his brain kept whispering illogical, impossible possibilities into his mind. Things like throwing proprietary to the wind and whisking Merlin away on a courting picnic disguised as a hunting trip, or encouraging Merlin to enter the tournament so he could lose on purpose and have an excuse to marry him, or thoughts of Merlin spread under him and writhi—and Arthur needed to stop thinking himself into a rabbit hole. 

“What’s on your mind, sire?” Leon’s tone was inquisitive, low and rumbling the way he’d been as long as Arthur could remember. 

They were out on the field, watching over a few of the foreign knights that had begun to arrive in Camelot as of this morning; he’d promised them all living quarters in the castle up to two to three weeks before the tournament, in the hopes that perhaps he’d begin to get to know some of them before suddenly being married off to one of them. It was headache inducing, the amount of pleasantries and conversations filled with small talk he’d been forced to engage in. If that wasn’t bad enough, Merlin had bounded into his quarters earlier with an abrupt announcement that he would be visiting his mother for a few weeks to help with the harvest, or something along those lines. 

So not only was he forced to deal with new knights that were trying everything from flexing their muscles in front of him to writing poetry about his arse that made him want to never leave his room, but he was down one manservant. Suffice to say, he had a lot on his mind. 

“The tournament, obviously,” Arthur sighed, making a general gesture at the knights practicing with their respective weapons around them. Leon nodded slowly, eyes flitting and thoughts moving a mile a minute. 

“Merlin’s not here, is he?” Leon finally asked, one eyebrow raised; to this day, Arthur would have no idea how Leon somehow came to the right conclusions with little to none context clues. 

“No, he’s not,” Arthur muttered, digging his foot into the wet soil under them. “He’s gone home to see his mother for a few  _ weeks. _ ” 

“And that’s why you’ve decided to regress to a teenage version of yourself?” A new voice asked, and Arthur narrowed his eyes to see a grinning Gwaine join them, shortly followed by the rest of the round table; they had matching grins on their faces, and he knew that he wasn’t the only one privy to Merlin’s abrupt absence. 

“Or perhaps even younger?” Elyan mused from the other side, laughing when Arthur turned his head away from him. He had the worst knights—treasonous, the lot of them, laughing at their king’s suffering. 

“I’ll have you all put in the stocks,” Arthur groused, ignoring the bright peals of laughter from his knights at the weak threat. He hadn’t even put  _ Merlin  _ in the stocks in months, let alone one of the knights. He was getting soft, damn it. 

“I’d just like my manservant here to do his job—George is driving me crazy,” Arthur complained, shuddering as he thought about having to return to his quarters and George’s insane sense of perfection when it came to cleaning and performing his duties. He’d even started aching for Merlin’s unconventional methods of waking him up, hating it when George let him sleep in without a complaint. 

“Yeah, to do his job—and  _ more _ ,” Gwaine added, wiggling his eyebrows at an unimpressed Arthur. Leon snorted in amusement and stood in between them as Gwaine danced away when Arthur lunged at him, the two staring at each other around the head knight. 

“Alright, children. I understand that we all miss Merlin, but I’m sure he’d like to return to a whole and happy round table, not you trying to kill each other,” Leon said in a tone he’d long mastered as the one Arthur liked to call his ‘mother-hen’ mode. 

“And I’m sure he’d appreciate his King getting some peace of mind,” Arthur said pointedly, ignoring the fallacy in his statement; if anything, Merlin was usually the one stealing his peace of mind. 

“Our Merlin? You sure he wouldn’t be the one making a fool out of you?” Gwaine was smirking crookedly, and Arthur fought the urge to lunge around Leon again. 

“Oh shut it, Gwaine.” 

—

Merlin was not in Ealdor. He was not on his way to Ealdor, or on his way back from Ealdor. In fact, he was in the heart of Camelot: camping out in his old bedroom in the physician’s quarters, a shabby disguise in the form of a low hanging hood serving as his only barrier between his identity and curious visitors. 

Immediately after his conversation with Arthur, he’d marched his way out to the clearing in the woods, flashed his eyes gold, bellowed like a drunken sailor, and waited impatiently for Kilgharrah to appear. 

_ “And why have you called me now, young warlock? I am not aware of any threat approaching Camelot,” Kilgharrah’s voice was a rumble filling the area, and Merlin took a step back at the air exhaled from the dragon’s nostrils.  _

_“I need your help_ _with_ — _” Merlin paused, taking a moment to think about what he really needed help with. He’d been learning skills other than magic for a while, playing around with daggers and hand-to-hand in his spare time, but becoming proficient at a sword and shield would take some time._

_ “With how to become a knight,” He finished a few beats later, staring back calmly when Kilgharrah gave him an odd look. The dragon’s eyes were gleaming with interest, head lowering till he was a few inches away from Merlin.  _

_ “A knight? You’ve never shown interest in that path before?” Kilgharrah’s tone was lilting, the end of his sentence raised in question. Merlin smiled guilelessly, mind racing to come up with a question that wasn’t A) he really didn’t want anyone but himself to marry Arthur or B) he was doing this out of pure spite to prove the King wrong.  _

_ “It’s to protect Arthur. I don’t trust foreign knights, and you know things always go wrong at tournaments,” Merlin pointed out with raised brows, and they both took a second to think of all the disastrous tournaments Camelot had held in the recent years.  _

_ “And you come to me for help?” Kilgharrah’s voice was amused, and Merlin was glad that they’d moved on from questioning his motives.  _

_ “You’re a Great Dragon. If anyone knows how to become a proper knight, it’s you,” Merlin pointed out, adding a little flattery that he knew didn’t go unnoticed, if the proud flare of fire from the dragon’s nose told him anything.  _

_ “Very well _ — _ but it will not be easy, young warlock.”  _

And it wasn’t. Every inch of Merlin’s body ached and creaked, muscles screaming for relief every time he moved. A glance into a mirror when he’d been catching a quick bath after a long day of being knocked on his arse had told him he resembled an exotic bird, black and blue bruises covering his skin. He’d taken to avoiding Gaius’s probing eyes and hands, telling the physician that he was taking care of some training for the upcoming tournament (not that he was planning on being  _ in _ the tournament). 

Merlin spent every minute of every day for three weeks training in the woods, picking up swords and shields from the armory when no one was looking, shrinking them and carrying it out to where he met Kilgharrah. He wasn’t one to brag by any means, but Merlin knew he’d gotten good—maybe even good enough to beat Arthur. Kilgharrah pushed him harder than he’d ever been pushed physically, sending him away with new maneuvers and exercises to practice away from the clearing. 

“Ready for the tournament then?” Gaius asked from where he was measuring out some ingredients into the mortar, eyebrow raised as Merlin hurried down the stairs, one hand adjusting the ties of his armor (nicked from Gwen, which he promised to return later) while the other held onto a large helmet he’d found in the depths of the armory. 

Merlin simply stared at Gaius for a moment, eyes wide; he’d thought the elder would be in town by now, doing his daily rounds. Not still here in time to see him struggle his way into some armor and head to registration. 

“I—no—uh,” Merlin trailed off, swallowing audibly at the unimpressed look on his guardian’s face. 

“You’re not exactly subtle, Merlin,” Gaius intoned, a small smile appearing when Merlin shot him a sheepish look, grinning when his shrug caused the metal of his armor and sword to rattle loudly. 

“Want to tell me why you’re participating? And why you’ve got Pendragon red wrapped around your arm?” Gaius asked, smile widening when Merlin immediately flushed and looked down at the red fabric he’d torn off one of Arthur’s old tunics and tied around his arm. 

“I—well, you know, to keep Arthur safe,” Merlin muttered, scratching his cheek as he looked anywhere but into the knowing eyes of Gaius, who released something that sounded like a snort. 

“Go on, and be safe,” Gaius finally took pity on him, fixing Merlin with a look before waving him out the door. Merlin grinned brightly, stopping to let the physician ruffle his hair before slamming the helmet down on his head and running out the door. 

—

“Any bets on who’s going to win?” Gwaine’s voice greeted Arthur as he climbed off the ledge after his brief opening speech, already irritated with the large crowd of warriors that were apparently ready to fight for his hand. 

“How can we have bets when we’ve never even seen these men fight?” Percival questioned from behind Gwaine, looking utterly confused as he scanned the crowd in front of them. 

“Yes, but have you seen some of them walking around the castle? Perhaps I’ll ask one of  _ them _ for their hand,” Morgana commented from next to Arthur, a tinkling laugh escaping her lips when Percival blushed and looked away. 

“Maybe you should all quiet down and watch the first round instead of speculating,” Lancelot suggested with an exasperated look that faded into a pleased one when they all shut up; everyone in the inner circle knew to not push easy-going Lancelot when he sounded close to getting irritated—it was a death wish. 

Arthur turned his attention to the ring, hand resting on his chin, the metal of his ring brushing against his skin. The knight on the right was someone he was familiar with—Sir Safir from Mercia, and an old friend of sorts. The man had been someone Arthur clashed with regularly at tournaments throughout his knighthood, and they got along fairly well—just not someone he’d mark down as marriage material. 

The knight on the left was unknown to Arthur, and the rest of them fared the same, unknowing of the man save for the fact that he’d registered as William, an inconspicuous enough name for this age and day. Arthur watched him with narrowed eyes, raking over the long, lean figure that even armor couldn’t hide. While the other contestants had mingled before the rounds with their helmets and select pieces of armor removed, this man had yet to remove anything, leaving his face obscured. 

“Do you think he has a scar on his face?” Gwaine whispered, eyes wide as he watched the two knights warm up on opposite ends of the ring, swords ringing in the air. 

“What?” Arthur snapped, not in the mood to deal with Gwaine’s form of oddity today. He was stressed enough, thinking about having to defeat one of these men within a minute, while also dealing with the fact that he might end up married to someone here. 

“He’s asking if that knight has a scar; if that’s why he hasn’t removed his helmet,” Leon murmured, looking regal and as a knight should as his eyes scanned the crowd. 

“Or perhaps he’s so attractive he doesn’t want to distract anyone else,” Morgana quipped, smiling smugly when Arthur rolled his eyes at her. Before he could respond, the fight was loudly called to begin, and he leaned in to watch the two knights circle each other, warily sizing the other up. 

Arthur was too busy watching Sir Safir, and thus, was surprised when the other knight was the one to make the first move, a sharp, forward lunge and thrust that had the older knight thrown off balance, knees buckling as he moved back. The crowd seemed to hold its breath along with Arthur, as the mysterious knight continued to move forward, daring slashes and thrusts pushing Sir Safir to the edges of the ring. 

Morgana shot out and grasped his wrist with a gasp as the knight did one last movement, a complicated twist of his wrist and a slash, and Sir Safir fell—and didn’t get up. A hush, and then the crowd was up on their feet, screaming and stomping and yelling. The victorious knight simply raised his fist in the air, doing a jaunty little bow before disappearing into the crowd near the side tents that housed everyone else. 

“That was one hell of an entrance,” Elyan whistled lowly, and the approving murmurs from the rest of the round table told Arthur they agreed. 

And he did too. It was an impressive feat, especially for one performed by a man none of them knew anything about. The knight had moved with swift, confident actions; in a way, it had Arthur thinking of Merlin, and the few times he’d gotten to bear witness to his feats of magic. Merlin had a way of shedding his bumbling, clumsy self when he did magic, eyes flashing golden and voice stable, and sure of himself as he took care of the monster of the week (as they’d dubbed the attempted killings once, drunk and deep into a conversation about everything Merlin had done for him over the years). 

“You think if he wins, he’ll marry me over you?” Gwaine leaned in, a boyish grin on his face that Arthur responded to by placing his hand on his knight’s head and shoving him away. Arthur ignored the teasing laughter to look out in the direction he’d seen the knight disappear to, brows furrowed. 

—

Merlin was ecstatic. The first four rounds had gone by in a blur; he’d slashed, parried, and stabbed his way through men of various sizes. After training with Kilgharrah, a bloody dragon, even men the size of Percival did nothing but make him roll his eyes in exasperation. 

He’d noticed the eyes watching him after his second victory. If not the other contestants watching him like hungry predators during their brief breaks, then it was the knights of the round table eagerly watching him from the stands. And if it wasn’t them, it was Arthur himself, careful eyes steady in their assessment of him from the center stage. Merlin had shivered under the weight of his King’s gaze, swallowing tightly at the thought of those eyes watching him like that in a different, imagined situation. 

So lost in his thoughts of the tournament thus far, Merlin didn’t notice the figure coming up behind him till it was too late to escape. 

“William, was it?” A sickeningly familiar voice asked from behind him, and Merlin double checked that his face was completely hidden before turning around slowly, hands up like  _ ‘you-caught-me.’  _

“Ah,” Merlin paused, letting magic bleed into his voice so it would deepen from his usual timbre, “yes, your Majesty. What can I do for you?” 

“I’ve just come to applaud you on your performance so far. You’ve impressed me, and much of my inner circle,” Arthur said after a beat, blue eyes stormy and searching—for what, Merlin could not know. 

“Thank you, your Majesty. It means the most coming from you,” Merlin said as respectfully as he could, tilting his upper body in mimicry of a bow. He felt sweat bead on the back of his neck from the weight of Arthur’s scrutiny, wishing a convenient excuse would drop out of the sky so he could escape. 

“Yes—I also noticed the Pendragon red you carry on yourself,” Arthur observed with a raised brow, one hand loosely resting on the sword at his side while the other gestured to the fabric on Merlin’s arm. He winced, praying that Arthur wouldn’t look too close and realize it literally was  _ Pendragon _ red, stolen off his own clothing. 

“Well, that is the point of this tournament, is it not—for us to fight for the hand of an attractive king such as yourself?” Merlin questioned, before remembering himself and adding a quick: “your Majesty.” 

Merlin took a distinct pleasure in watching Arthur color a lovely pink at his compliment, adam’s apple bobbing up and down in a way that was distracting to Merlin’s weak mentality. He grinned from behind the helmet, resisting the urge to tease Arthur the way he did when they were behind closed doors, clotpotle and prat readily exchanged between them. 

“I suppose, but you—” Arthur was cut off by the sound of a horn going off, and he gave Merlin an apologetic look. “I apologize, but I must get back for the next rounds. I hope to see you victorious in the next round.” 

Before Merlin could respond, the king was whirling away, Camelot red swirling in the wind as he hurried to do his duty. And wasn’t that the kicker? Arthur wanted to see the knight Merlin was pretending to be victorious; if his heart hadn’t been hurting before this, it certainly was now. There was no doubt in his mind that Arthur didn’t return the feelings he’d harbored for years at this point, but seeing it so plainly, once again, felt like having a knife twisted inside him. 

It was crushing, but nothing Merlin wasn’t used to. He’d had years of watching Arthur fall in and out of love, begin and end courting with countless beautiful women; women who were the farthest from what Merlin could offer Arthur. He’d known that he wasn’t on Arthur’s radar, but every failed relationship brought equal parts pain and joy that Arthur hadn’t been permanently tied down. Even if he won this tournament, all it would look like in Arthur’s eyes was that his loyal manservant had been trying to alleviate his stress about marriage. 

Merlin sighed, grabbed his sword and stalked back to the ring; he had knights to beat into the ground, and a tournament to win. 

—

It was the final round before Arthur had to crush whichever knight managed to scrounge up a victory. He tapped his fingers restlessly on the wooden panel in front of him, legs crossing and uncrossing as he looked at the two knights warming up. They were both unknown to him, even if he had shared a brief conversation with William earlier (the low drawl of the man’s voice when he’d called Arthur attractive made him squirm in his seat, and he cursed himself for wondering if Merlin’s voice would sound like that if he took him to bed one night). 

“Who do you want to win?” Guinevere was the one to ask instead of Morgana this time, an almost romantic glaze in her eyes as she peaked around Morgana to wait for his response. 

“William, definitely. I heard a rumor from some knight that the man is utterly ripped underneath all that armor, and who would say no to that?” Gwaine’s eyes were wide with imagination, and Arthur snorted, sharing a look with Leon, who was mid sigh. 

“Did she ask you?” Arthur raised a brow at Gwaine, before turning back to Guinevere. “I suppose I concur with Sir Gwaine here; William seemed pleasant enough when I spoke to him earlier, and I’d enjoy beating him.” 

“How do you know he won’t beat you? We’ve all bore witness to his proficiency with the sword, and he seems good enough,” Morgana remarked, eyes focused on where William was taking a few practice slashes on a wooden post, posture confident and firm. 

“He still seems new to the blade, and the King can take advantage of that,” Leon answered for him; Morgana seemed to absorb the information, sharp eyes watching William again before agreeing with a slow nod. “I assume it will still be a difficult battle, however.” 

Arthur agreed; even though there was an apparent naivety to the man’s methods, he was still good enough to beat countless contestants. And the way he handled himself intrigued Arthur, the sure-fire, almost cocky stance he held in battle. As he continued to watch William, a sharp whistle set off the round, and he, along with everyone else in the stands, leaned forward to watch. 

  
  


Merlin circled the other knight in a lazy, languid manner; he’d already forgotten the name of his opponent (Sir Willy? Sir Killian? Who knows), and was busy thinking about how he’d have to face off against Arthur next. Lose to him and get the man away from marriage, as he so clearly wanted? Or win, just to prove Arthur and the knights wrong? 

He snapped back to reality when the other knight rushed forward, easily meeting his slash with the side of his sword, shoving the man back with a slight movement of his wrist. Merlin quickened the movement of his feet, getting a few cautionary lunges and stabs in, grinning when the other knight jerked back in surprise. He glanced over to see Arthur practically half out of his chair, eyes wide and engaged, along with the rest of the knights. 

Merlin grinned to himself, and decided to end this quickly; he wanted to meet Arthur in battle, and this was getting boring. The next time the knight jabbed in, Merlin moved in and met him, bringing his shoulder down in a diagonal line, his sword following in a rapid movement that most couldn’t follow. 

The knight gave a surprised choke when Merlin brought his knee up with force, letting it slam into the metal of the knight’s gut. He took the second of stupefied silence to bring the butt of his sword down on the other’s helmet, and barked out a laugh when the man fell like a sack of potatoes to the ground. 

Silence, and then the crowd broke into cheers, people waving copies of the red fabric on Merlin’s arm, even throwing a few out into the ring. He turned to look at the center of the stands, and in a daring moment, raised his hand and slowly made a beckoning motion at Arthur, who was now standing, lips parted and eyes wide. 

Laughter rolled through the crowd at Merlin’s call to the king, which only increased in volume when Arthur, already decked out in armor, immediately responded by jumping off the stands (much to the chagrin of Leon, who jolted forward). Merlin let out a small laugh himself, surprised when Arthur came up to him and clasped their hands together, the warmth of their hands bleeding into one. 

“Well done, William. I commend you, but now I’m going to have to beat you,” Arthur stated, a familiar smile on his lips that made Merlin ache with want. 

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Merlin quipped, and silently cursed at the way Arthur blinked in surprise at his voice; in his haste, he’d forgotten to inject magic into his voice, and now his king was most likely wondering why his voice sounded so familiar. 

Before Arthur could say anything else, Merlin moved to the opposite end of the ring, shield and sword raising slowly. He waited patiently as Arthur narrowed his eyes, but moved back, mimicking Merlin’s stance after he put his helmet on. 

A horn rang out, and then they were moving. Arthur wasted no time, taking wide steps till he and Merlin were face to face, metal ringing against each other as their swords and shields clashed in the center. Merlin could hear the crowd whooping and cheering in the background, but all he could focus on was the energy between him and Arthur as their blades met over and over again. 

For every parry that Merlin executed perfectly, Arthur was there again, slashing and stabbing away at him in a way that reminded him of the countless battles the two had fought side by side. He rarely got to see Arthur so focused on just him, and Merlin just took a second to appreciate the heat radiating off the other’s body, and the adrenaline pumping through his. 

“Perhaps you should make this easy on yourself, William, and just lose now?” Arthur jested as they paused briefly when their blades met, the both of them pressing their full weight against the metal of the other’s blade. 

“I could say the same to you,” Merlin retorted, before whirling away and swinging his shield around to ram against Arthur’s shield, which rushed up to meet his in a loud slamming noise. 

The seconds seemed to tick by imperceptibly slow as they continued to battle against each other, sweat rolling down Merlin’s face and the muscles in his arm already weak from the battles he’d won all day. As Arthur brought his sword down, Merlin knew before it hit the metal of his sword that he was going to lose. So he gritted his teeth and took it as gracefully as he could, sword clattering out of his hand and knees buckling. 

Silence fell upon the crowd as Merlin fell, and they waited with bated breath to see if he’d get up. But he couldn’t, for a wave of nausea rolled through him, and he tipped backwards. Merlin cursed at how Arthur would hold this over his head later, but felt himself smiling anyways, especially when Arthur removed his helmet to reveal a victorious grin. 

“The win goes to the King! Long live the King!” Came a cry, and the people echoed it with genuine cheer, the love for their king apparent in their voices. 

Merlin’s smile grew when Arthur turned back to him, hand outstretched; he clasped it gratefully, letting out a shaky laugh when the King pulled him off the ground easily. The crowd was still cheering, but he could feel the weight of their eyes as they waited for him to take off his helmet. 

“Just because you performed well does not mean you can continue to hide behind that helmet,” Arthur said lighty, gaze expectant and the hand around Merlin’s firm. 

And that was all the invitation one needed, Merlin supposed. He let go of Arthur’s hand, took a deep breath, and pulled his helmet off in one, smooth motion. A stunned silence fell upon the crowd, for Merlin’s face was well-known by the people of Camelot, what with him stumbling his way through the city next to Arthur or Gaius. 

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed out, eyes wide and an unreadable look on his face. Before Merlin could do anything but smile sheepishly, a loud scream of joy came from the direction of the stands. Moments later, he had an armful of knights and was falling to the ground, being slowly crushed by piles of metal and Camelot red. 

“Merls, you bastard, you!” Gwaine’s voice was the loudest of the lot, and Merlin laughed heartily as the man yanked him off the ground, quickly wrapping his arm around his shoulders. Lancelot joined them on his other side, a proud smile lighting up his face as the knights began to talk his ears off. 

However, when Merlin looked up to search for Arthur, he couldn’t spot the blonde anywhere. 

—

Merlin decided that Arthur was avoiding him. That was the only thing that explained George telling him the King was giving him a week off for his victory, and the fact that every time he got close to seeing Arthur, one of the knights, Morgana, or Gwen whisked him away. Merlin was getting increasingly frustrated, and even the sympathetic looks his friends were giving him weren’t enough to mollify him anymore. 

“And where are you off to?” Gaius asked, eyebrow raised and a deeply knowing look on his face. Merlin smiled disarmingly at him from under the hooded cloak he’d donned, waving cheekily. 

“I’m going to sneak into the King’s quarters and demand he talk to me,” Merlin announced cheerfully, ignoring the squinty eyed look Gaius gave him to march out the door, smile dropping immediately. He’d had enough, and if he had to resort to sneaky methods to talk to his damn best friend, then god help him, he would. 

Merlin cast a quick spell on himself, obscuring himself from the eyes of the guards as he easily slipped into Arthur’s room. He swallowed tightly, eyes softening as he took in the sight of Arthur resting on his desk. The man looked exhausted, black circles prominent on his face and lips turned down as he studied some papers on the desk. Merlin wanted to go over there so desperately and curl himself around Arthur, to card his fingers through the king’s hair till it lulled him to sleep. He ignored that urge to march in as loudly as he could, taking a little satisfaction in the way Arthur nearly tumbled out of his chair. 

“What are you— _ Merlin?! _ ” An incredulous Arthur shrieked (which he would deny later, because  _ ‘Merlin, I do not shriek like a girl, I’m the king’ _ ), sending a few papers flying in his startled movements. 

“Your Majesty,” Merlin shot back, arms crossed across his chest tightly. Arthur scowled, settling back down and mimicking Merlin’s pose. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What am I doing? What are  _ you _ doing? Why are you ignoring me? Why have you told everyone to keep me out of your way like I’m some foreign enemy? After I entered that bloody tournament for you—” 

“ _ That’s exactly it! _ ” Arthur bellowed, rising from the desk with so much fury that it shut Merlin up in shock. He stepped back, swallowing at the way Arthur began to pace in front of his desk. 

“I didn’t ask you to enter that tournament. No one did, but you did anyway; and told no one. Then again, when do you listen to any of us? When do you tell us anything?” Arthur laughed bitterly, halting his pacing to look at Merlin in a way that had his skin crawling. 

Arthur made jerking motions towards him, one hand flying up to rake through his hair and leaving it disheveled. “I’m sure this is just one more thing you can add to your list of things to lord over me.” 

“That’s not fair, Arthur,” Merlin murmured softly, fingers curling and uncurling in hesitation. He wanted to walk over there and sink his hands into the tight cords of muscle around Arthur’s biceps, to let himself be held, to  _ hold.  _

“No. You know what’s not fair,  _ Mer _ lin?” Arthur asked, voice low and breathy as he stalked forward; Merlin stood there, frozen, even as Arthur’s hand wrapped around his bicep and pushed him back till his spine was pressed against the cool stone wall of the castle. 

“What’s not fair is that you can’t even think of the reason I didn’t want this tournament to be hosted in the first place,” Arthur murmured, breath ghosting over Merlin’s lips as he brought his head closer to his. Merlin could practically feel Arthur’s lips shifting against his, the words pressed into his skin.

Merlin exhaled slowly, breath shaky when he realized how the close the two of them were; Arthur’s legs bracketed him in, the tops of their thighs pressed together. The king was so close that the tips of their noses brushed against each other with every inhale, and Merlin could count the individual golden lashes framing Arthur’s sea blue eyes. 

“Then why don’t I show you why I entered in the first place,” Merlin whispered back, and let his instincts take over, curling his fingers into the fabric of Arthur’s tunic and yanking him closer, till their chests were pressed against each other. 

Arthur’s eyes had widened a fraction when Merlin ducked in, pressing his lips against the other’s lightly, just a brief rush of heat that made him tighten his hold on Arthur’s tunic. He pressed his eyes shut and prepared to move away when Arthur did nothing but stand there, a stone of shame and disappointment dropping in his stomach. 

But before Merlin could do anything, Arthur was slamming his hands onto the spaces next to his head, moving in to press their lips together again. He gasped into the kiss, his free hand flying up to curl around the nape of Arthur’s neck as the kiss deepened, noses bumping against each other and heat spreading through each other. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Arthur breathed when he pulled away, lips slightly glossy and eyes hazy. Merlin sighed wistfully, not bothering to reply; instead, he grabbed the strings of Arthur’s shirt and yanked him into another kiss. 

Merlin whined impatiently when Arthur’s tongue ran along the seam of his lips, slowly pressing in; his tongue scraped through the inside of Merlin’s mouth agonizingly slow, making circular motions that were driving him insane. He barely noticed when Arthur slipped his hands off the wall, but he certainly noticed when they settled on his waist, thumbs slipping in past the fabric of his shirt; Merlin jolted when Arthur’s fingers dug into the skin of his hips, rubbing mesmerizing circles that had him keening into their open-mouthed kisses. 

“Arthur…” Merlin whimpered in between kisses, shivering when Arthur simply pressed them closer together, one arm encircling his waist while the other hand easily wrapped around his neck, thumb pressed to the hollow of Merlin’s throat. 

Merlin tipped his head back when Arthur began to suck lightly on his tongue, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of being surrounded by Arthur. All he could feel was his king, bodies wrapped around each other and lips joining in communion over and over again. Their kisses were searing, and Merlin decided that this is what he’s been searching for: this feeling of ecstasy, this feeling that he was flying that only Arthur could give him. 

“Merlin, you—I love you,” Tumbled out of Arthur’s lips, and Merlin’s eyes softened when Arthur looked shocked at his own admission. 

He moved his hand up from Arthur’s nape and into his hair, scratching gentle circles into it until Arthur’s eyes slid shut gently, lips parting to exhale quietly in the space between them. He reached up to capture the king’s lips in a soft, lingering kiss, letting his tongue map the inside of Arthur’s mouth till he had it memorized. Arthur slid a hand up Merlin’s shirt, broad palm burning against his spine as it rubbed up and down. 

When they parted, Merlin opened his eyes slowly, pressing a small kiss to the corner of Arthur’s lips, smiling into it. “I love you, Arthur. Always have, and always will.” 

Their lips joined again, and this time, Merlin lost himself to it. Perhaps tournaments were good for something after all. 

  
  



End file.
